


Kiss Me in the Dark

by Lang



Series: teen hooker incest 'verse [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Accidental Incest, Alternate Universe, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Parent-Child Incest, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-06-07
Packaged: 2018-11-10 00:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11115966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lang/pseuds/Lang
Summary: Written for the kinkmeme prompt: FP was sent to jail when Jughead was very small and Jughead's mother never even spoke his name after that. The spring before Jason Blossom is killed, two things happen: Gladys takes her daughter and abandons her son, and FP gets let out of jail.Jughead is a homeless kid he meets who is turning tricks to survive. Neither of them recognizes the other, but FP takes a liking to the kid. He becomes both Jughead's protector and a frequent john. Although FP is looking for his son, Forsythe, he never mentions it to Jug and Jug never connects the dangerous gang leader with the dad he never knew.





	Kiss Me in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

> This is very dirty incest teen hooker porn. Real incest, not "whoops Jason was my third cousin" incest.

First time FP saw the kid, he was lowering himself onto Mustang's cock. 

The boy's face was all scrunched up under the beanie. If that was pleasure, it looked a hell of a lot like pain. When the kid was split wide open on him, Mustang took hold of his skinny backside and shoved him against the headboard. Bounced him on his dick a few times before starting to thrust in earnest.

FP must have watched, shocked, for a good three or four minutes. Motel door closed behind him with a _snick_. Mustang said, "You gonna bust a nut in your pants or come over here and use his mouth?"

FP was getting hard -- hard not to, with all that bare skin, the little spray of beauty marks -- but he lost the hardness right then. Because the kid's eyes opened wide and he said, " _No_. I didn't say two!"

Mustang's answer was to flip him back onto the bed. The kid winced when his back hit the cheap, creaky mattress. Mustang didn't let up.

"Shit, for the fifty I paid?" he said to the boy, between thrusts. "Gram of heroin's only ten, and that's a better high than you. Give it over, FP."

Mustang was putting FP up. It was either the Serpents or a halfway house, and to spend a years in prison only to get out and live in a hole full of guys who'd rob you soon as look at you? At least if they were Serpents, they'd be guys FP knew. 

But Mustang wasn't like the Mustang he'd known. Addiction could do that to a man. Make him nasty. Make him easy to control, too. FP said, "I played drug mule for you, Mustang, but I'm not gonna put the damn needle in your veins. It'll be in the bathroom."

Then he went into the bathroom and closed the door. Sat on the toilet. Breathed hard.

Couldn't get the kid's face out of his head. The flush of humiliated red across his cheekbones. Like the worst thing wasn't taking it up the ass from a scumbag like Mustang for fifty bucks. Like the worst thing was some other scumbag -- FP Jones, ladies and gentlemen, yours truly -- just standing there watching.

He'd told the prison chaplain he'd try to stay clean. You lost your family, your life, got slapped with a ten-year-sentence all for some shit you'd done while on the sauce... well. It gave you some perspective. But fuck, he wanted a drink. A drink and some ear plugs to drown out the creak of the bed springs, the little whimpers. 

Still didn't sound much like pleasure. But he'd given Mustang incentive to finish up quick, and Mustang did. Banged open the door to the bathroom cursing, with his pants still around his ankles and his dick out, hungry for his fix. FP threw the bag at him and strode out to check on the boy.

Sixteen? Seventeen? Maybe the same age--

No. Better not to think of that, or he would fall right off the wagon again. Instead he crouched down and started picking up whatever looked like it belonged to the kid. Flannel, jean jacket, t-shirt, jeans. Held them out without looking at his face. Probably the boy would want some privacy. 

"Thanks," said the boy softly.

So FP did chance to look. Some devil in him wanting to catch that fine-boned face, the smooth young skin before it disappeared into clothes. But what hit him were the bags under the kid's eyes, like he hadn't slept in days. The skinny v of the hips. Too tired, too hungry for somebody that young. When FP had been that age, he'd been king of the Bulldogs. It had taken until adulthood for the South Side to catch up with him. Now, two decades later, it was claiming them early. Too early for FP's comfort.

"He pay you what he said he would?" FP asked.

The boy nodded tightly.

Wasn't like FP had money -- shit, the only job anybody would give him was getting them their drugs -- but he reached into a pocket of his jeans anyway. He came up with a grubby ten and held it out. 

No pride in this one, because he took it without blinking. Or maybe the wrong kind of pride, because then he said, coolly, "What are you expecting to get for this?"

FP barked out a laugh. He could beat this kid without batting an eye and they both knew it. He wasn't going to. But the kid didn't know that.

Ballsy, then. FP sat next to him on the bed and passed him his shoes. The kid tugged them on.

"That enough to keep you away from Mustang?" FP said.

"Ten bucks? Not really," the boy admitted.

"Tell me you weren't fucking him raw."

"Yeah, don't worry, I'd charge a lot more than fifty bucks if I was risking gonorrhea," the boy said with a snort. Teenage nerves, or teenage sarcasm, or a mix of both. Then he was shoving the ten in his pocket, and was gone. 

When Mustang came out of the bathroom, later, FP was still sitting on the bed, head in his hands again. Prison was so boring it dampened a man's senses somehow. Then you got out and it was all too much. 

"You fuck Jughead?" Mustang said without preamble.

"What the hell's a Jughead?" said FP.

-

A good-looking kid, when you got down to it. 

If not in the usual way. At once ganglier and more delicate than that. But something about his face made sense to FP, like he'd been looking for it for years and had never realized. 

He worked at the drive-in. Worked-worked, at the kind of a job boy his age ought to have. But, far as FP could tell, he was nobody's boy. The rumor -- according to Mustang -- was that the boy's mother had taken off while he'd been in juvie. 

That was a punch to the gut. Not because of Jughead's mother. Because of Gladys, and FP's boy, and his baby girl. There when he'd gone in, gone when he got out. Never visited him, never called. Probably better off without him, probably Forsythe and his sister were living some white picket fence dream like Gladys had always wanted. Maybe they had a better old man, even.

But still -- it gave him and the boy some common ground. Made this less about the way FP's dick firmed up when he thought about that skinny ass taking a dick, more about how this was somebody not even twenty, somebody young and unlucky who deserved better. FP had a lot of time between running drugs for the Serpents, so he'd pull up to the Twilight in his truck to watch the boy sweep down the lot. 

FP wasn't the only one to hang around him. The Twilight drive-in fell in Serpent territory. Wasn't unusual to see guys come by and shout out to Jughead, take him back behind the snack booth. Once FP came out of the grimy drive-in bathroom and found Jughead on his knees in front of a younger Serpent, licking along the length of the Serpent's shaft. His eyes flicked up briefly and caught FP's, but he didn't stop what he was doing. Just lapped his pink tongue along that dick, getting FP rock hard with a look.

Then one time, when the kid was high up on a rickety ladder, changing the letters on the marquee, a couple guys came by and started rattling the ladder. They were having fun, but fun the way shitheads had fun. 

_You sure you don't want more than one at a time, baby? Why have rules anyway? Huh, Julia Roberts?_

Even though he was high up, FP could see Jughead's knuckles turning white from here. He'd dropped the marquee letters to clutch the top of the ladder, desperate not to fall.

By year three in the clink, FP had become the guy you could count on to end trouble, fast. That came in handy here. There were three Serpents -- all young, all dumb -- and he made short work of them. They were spry, but he was a dirty fucking fighter. Only took a few well-placed punches before they were all running off, shouting curses at him over their shoulders.

Then he looked up. Jughead was still clutching the ladder, very carefully not looking down.

"Jughead?" FP said. Damn, but that name sounded stupid. He still wasn't sure people weren't kidding him about that. 

But it brought him down. FP stooped and helped him pick up the marquee letters.

"What's playing tonight, then?" he asked, for lack of anything else to say.

Jughead huffed. 

"Right, like you come here because you're such a movie buff."

"Hey," FP said. "Try me."

"Well, it's not The Godfather and it's not Rocky," Jughead said, getting pretty high-handed for a kid whose ass FP had just saved. "Not Scarface, either. Did I get your top three?"

"How about Bullitt?" FP said. 

"Oh. McQueen," Jughead said, rolling his eyes. But he sounded less disdainful than before.

FP had won Gladys over by talking movies, too, made her think he was more than what he was. But she was gone, and instead he had this nervy, pretty kind of kid in front of him, who knew FP was a thug. But, shit, hopefully he wasn't the kind of thug you could read as easily as Jughead thought. He'd like to be a better thug than _that_.

"Are you -- do you want me?" Jughead said abruptly. Like now he was the one who didn't know what else to say.

FP did want him, obviously, but he wanted to keep talking to the kid too. Couldn't figure out why. Maybe because in prison you got used to these long spells of silence, so words became important. Jughead seemed like the kind of kid who'd think so, too.

"Not sure," FP told him. "I'm trying to figure that out. They said you had rules. What are the rules?"

"No kissing," Jughead offered blithely. But then his face tightened and he said, "No, I don't care about kissing. But only one guy at a time. No body fluids except for the normal ones. No drugs. No handcuffs. I'm not gonna fuck anybody's dog--"

"Jesus," FP said. "People ask you for that?"

"This is where the world ends," Jughead said. "At the edge of town, the wrong side of the tracks. Where nothing's off limits, because nobody cares what happens on the South Side. Beyond the eyes of the town, beyond the eyes of anyone respectable, people will try anything."

So he was a little bit of a drama queen. 

FP didn't have any money to give him. He was still waiting on his share for the Montreal deal, and he wanted to have some pride, he wasn't going to ask to fuck the kid on credit. So he left Jughead alone that night. Went back to his truck, wasted a few hours looking at the Register's help wanted section. Until it got too dark and the screen lit up. Huge white Warner Bros logo. That kitschy sixties music. Steve McQueen's name in huge letters.

FP hadn't smiled -- really smiled -- in a while. But he did then. 

-

He had this weird idea that he didn't want to fuck Jughead in the little asphalt strip between the snack booth and the drive-in bathrooms. Didn't want to fuck him in Mustang's motel room, either. Didn't know why he was so picky. The South Side was nothing if not greasy spoons, fleabag motels, and dive bars. Any one of those should do the trick, and yet this would be the first time FP got laid since they put him away, and with a kid who was unexpectedly fine.

So a part of him just wanted a decent fucking bed to do it in. That was all.

Then the three young Serpents from before tried to jump him one day near the Whyte Wyrm, so he laid them all flat where the others could watch. After that he had Rex offering to put him up at the clubhouse, if only FP would agree to keep order there. Keep guys from coming in high, starting fights, using the basement for shit they weren't supposed to. It was a better job than tagging along on drug deals. More regular pay. Shit, more legal pay, for that matter. So FP took it, and found that it came with a little back room, one of those full-size beds too big for one but too small for two, a night table, a shitty safe that wouldn't close right.

He figured this was maybe the best he'd get. 

But Jughead's response was immediate. "No. Not there. Not in the Serpents' bar."

FP stared at him.

"Sorry, kid, did you miss that I _am_ a Serpent?"

He'd lost his jacket ten years ago. Wasn't the kind of thing they let you keep when they booked you. But he would have thought it was obvious, what with Mustang and the gang he hung out with and the duffel bags full of drugs.

"Your rules didn't say you were so picky--"

"You didn't let me finish my rules," Jughead said, mutinous. "I don't go into the Serpents' den."

"This is the Serpents' den," FP said. "The whole damn South Side--"

"No," Jughead said, short. "This is the Twilight Drive-in. It's owned by the town. And nobody comes here but--"

"Serpents."

" _Me_ , said Jughead, like he was claiming his own little kingdom.

Then he turned on his heel and went into the projection booth, slamming the door behind him. 

FP just about lost his temper then, but reeled it in. He banged on the door a few times and said, "I got seventy-five. Either you want it or you don't."

Fifty for his ass, twenty for his mouth, five just because. Just because, fact was, FP had never hired a hooker before -- had never had to. And if there was some other way to get the kid's attention, he wouldn't be doing it like this, like such a scumbag. 

Either way, he didn't get any answer now. He turned to go. 

The door creaked open behind him. He turned. Jughead was standing there in the dark entryway, arms wrapped around his midsection, scowling.

"We can do it by the snack booth--"

"I'm not gonna fuck you in the street," FP said. "Have some pride for fuck's sake."

Jughead looked down at his scuffed sneakers. For a second, he looked young and unsure, and then he said, "We'll do it in here, then."

At first FP assumed that he'd just set the place up so he could bring johns in. No other reason to have a cot there. But as Jug counted out the money and shrugged himself out of his denim jacket, he caught sight of the toothbrush tucked behind two reels of film. The school books in the corner. The old pajama pants shoved under a bunch of rolled-up film posters.

"Hang on," he said, as Jughead sank to his knees and started undoing his fly, pulling down the band of his boxers. "Are you--"

 _living here_ was cut off the second Jughead's hands found his dick. Sure, kid knew he would say it. His eyes followed FP's to the wadded-up pajama pants. But he only said, "Leave it," and then the heat of his mouth was closing on the head of FP's cock.

Warm. Wet. Shit, the kid didn't even have him all the way in his throat, but this felt better than anything FP had experienced in weeks, and he was counting the taste of that first beer Rex had finally talked him into drinking. This was better. FP leaned back and let Jughead explore the head with his mouth. Jughead kept giving it these good wet sucks. One of his hands worked the length, the other went for FP's balls. 

There was nothing polished about it, but in less than a minute FP was just nerves and sensation. The kid's pink lips were stretched obscenely over his dick. He wasn't quiet about the blowjob, either, he was nice and loud like FP liked it. Made these soft little moans, like he liked what he was tasting. FP reached out a hand and let it sit on his head. Pity about the beanie. Something told FP it wouldn't be a good idea to take it off, but he'd like to feel Jughead's hair, silky-black, pretty like the rest of him. Still, this was enough for now. Enough to guide him gently, coaxingly. Push Jughead's face closer, make him take it deeper. 

His cheeks hollowed in response. FP pushed back the curl of his hair and traced the beauty marks on his skin. Jughead's eyes fluttered open, looked up at him. Surprised. 

"Like the look of you," FP told him, and went back to guiding him. When he was deep enough to hit Jughead's throat the kid choked a little, his green eyes watered up. But he pushed past it. Kept sucking, FP's dick sitting heavy on his tongue. FP fucked slow into his mouth until he hit his climax. Jughead pulled back a little then, but not so much that FP couldn't come on his tongue and bottom lip. 

"Swallow it all," FP said. Jughead blinked at him, startled, but under FP's watchful gaze, he rubbed the come off his lips and chin with a palm, then gave that palm a lick. Nothing graceful to it, but if FP hadn't just come then he'd be hard again, looking at that. He leaned down and kissed him, tasting himself on Jughead's tongue. When he broke off, Jughead's eyes were wide, like he hadn't been expecting the kiss.

"Wasn't against the rules," FP reminded him.

For a second Jughead looked young and nervous. But then he smoothed that over and when he spoke, it came out breezy, kind of haughty again.

"I'm assuming the extra fifty-five isn't a donation," he said. "So let's just get on with it."

Then he was up and pulling off his shirt, undoing his fly. FP stretched out on the little camper cot and looked at him, bemused.

"Gonna have to give me a little more time to get it back up," he said, shaking his head. "I'm not as young as you."

 _How_ young he was was something FP didn't want to ask about. Didn't matter, anyway. Jughead would be worth looking at if he was 21, 18, 16. FP had to hope the kid wasn't any younger than that, though. He didn't look like it, at least. Once he'd stripped down, he was long and lean, still as skinny as FP remembered, but obviously well on his way to manhood. 

"You eat?" FP told him, eyeing the ribs and skinny hips, all dappled with beauty marks.

"Compulsively," Jughead said. "As any one who knows me can attest, I'd do anything for a cheeseburger." 

Then the bravado cracked. He flushed, pinking everywhere from his face to his chest, and added, "Obviously."

"Maybe I'll pick you up one next time I'm at Pop's then," FP said easily. "Now get over here."

Jughead came. For a kid who could make just about anything sound sarcastic, he came to heel easy, ducking his head and straddling FP on the cot. Not much space for him to do anything else. He winced a little when the underside of his dick brushed the zipper of FP's jeans. 

"Pull 'em off," FP instructed, because if Jughead was naked, it was only fair he should be too. So while Jughead worked at stripping off his jeans, his boxers, he sat up and pulled off his flannel and shirt. When they were skin to skin, he leaned back again and settled one hand on Jughead's ass, one on his shoulder. Pulled him down. 

Couldn't figure out why, but since they had to wait for him to get it up again, he wanted to just hold the kid. Feel all that bare skin on his, warm and young, look over his shoulder and count the birth marks on his back now. Pull up his chin and kiss him deep again. Something in the kiss worked for Jughead, anyway, because he started grinding his dick against FP's bare thigh. FP smirked into his mouth, then squeezed his ass. 

Jughead broke off the kiss. 

"Stop," he said, wrinkling his nose. 

FP raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You want me to? I will if you want me to."

Silence. So FP grabbed his ass again and got back to kissing him, feeling how the kid's cock was already dribbling on him, enjoying his little intakes of breath. 

He firmed up pretty quick, given all that. It took colossal self control not to get off again just by grinding against Jughead, pushing his slender hips down so their cocks could touch. FP would have been happy with that, really. But Jughead was reaching over and grabbing something from the nearby desk -- lube, looked like. And a condom. He tried to shimmy down, looking to get it on FP's dick. FP stopped him. 

"Gimme that and get back up here," he said lazily. "Not done kissing you."

Those green eyes looked shocked again. FP grinned, then ran a finger over Jughead's mouth. Looked so red and swollen he decided it was a shame he couldn't kiss the kid all the time -- that look suited him so well. This time when FP kissed him, though, he twisted the lube out of his hands and flicked it open with one hand of his own. Maneuvering like this was tricky, stuck on a cramped cot beneath Jughead, but he didn't want to stop kissing the kid for anything, so somehow he managed. Got his fingers good and lubed-up and then reached around and found the spot he wanted. 

That little ring of muscle. FP traced it with a finger and felt Jughead gasp into his mouth. 

"Nobody ever prep you before?" he said into Jughead's mouth, grinning.

"I do it myself," Jughead managed. "When I can." 

The image of him reaching back with his fingers, fucking himself on them, definitely sent another jolt to FP's cock.

"Gonna make you do it in front of me sometime," he promised. Then he got to work massaging that tight ring, getting the muscle loose enough to slip a finger in. Jughead's hands curled on his shoulders in response. His breath got faster. The kid was rock hard already, but his ass wasn't loose enough for FP to fuck yet. Didn't want to hurt him, after all. So he settled for getting one finger in, then two. Stretching the ring real slow, until he could scissor his fingers out and feel Jughead's hips grind against him with want, instead of those little whimpers of discomfort he'd given at the start. 

When he could get a third finger in, all three of them thick and rough because FP was blue collar as they came, he figured Jughead was ready. 

"Alright, get that condom on my dick," he said. 

Jughead shimmied down and did it, making the cot creak dangerously. FP enjoyed the sight of him rolling the condom onto his cock, preparing it to take him, but this business with the cot wasn't going to work. Not without breaking the damn thing, and if the kid was _sleeping_ here--

No. Not gonna work. FP didn't want to deprive Jughead of a damn bed. Just get a good fuck out of the kid. He squeezed Jughead's ass again briefly, then said, "Against the desk. Bend over. Ass out."

Be nice to fuck him with his legs up, so he could see Jughead's face. But the desk was almost as cramped as the cot. Jughead would be curled up like a damn pretzel on it, and FP wasn't a sadist like that. Anyway this wouldn't be the first time they did this. Not if FP had his way. There would be other chances to fuck missionary-style.

This way, he could still reach around and grab the boy's dick as he lined himself up. Jughead whined, fucking into his fingers. FP ran his other hand over his tense back and said, "Easy. Not yet. I want you coming on my dick, you hear?"

Jughead gave a disappointed groan, but nodded and stilled. FP put a hand on his hip and slowly, agonizingly, pushed in. 

Even with the prep, he was thick and Jughead was fucking _tight_. The boy was making ragged sounds, and FP found himself moving slow so as not to hurt him. Fucking in real gentle at first, letting the kid adjust to him. 

"It'll get good, baby," he said. "I promise."

Eventually he was in him completely. Jughead was exhaling hard against the desk, but his dick was still firm. FP massaged his hip a little. He was proud of the kid for taking all that pleasure and pain at once. 

He started to move in earnest. Jughead was hot and tight around his dick, good as FP had expected him to be, but what made it perfect were the groans. Jughead was making noises like he couldn't get enough, his dick still leaking like crazy. FP made sure to slick it up with Jughead's own pre-cum, rub it in time with his thrusts. When he found that bundle of nerves that he was looking for inside Jughead, the kid actually arched up and moaned louder than before.

"Told you," FP said, pressing kisses to his back. "Told you it would get good."

And it was good for him too, so good it was getting hard not to just blow his load. He managed to hold off, though, long enough to hit Jughead's prostate a few more times. A few more was all it took, and then the kid was coming all over FP's hand. The nicest thing about it was his little sobbing yell, the ragged curses he made. That went straight to FP's dick and then FP was coming too, holding tight to the kid for dear life.

He didn't pull out of Jughead until he was soft. Jughead was still bent over, face on the desk, breathing hard. FP stroked the hair at the nape of his neck gently.

"I won't stick around, baby. I know that's my turn done," he said, to make it easier on the kid. "Kiss for the road?"

He just threw it out there. Jughead felt right in his arms. But he wasn't gonna press. He was already ranging around the small room, picking up his shirt and pulling on his boxers. This was work for Jughead, and no matter how good the sex was, FP wasn't going to fool himself into thinking the boy didn't want him out of his hair.

But when he looked up at Jughead, Jughead was just looking back at him. He surged off the desk and then those delicate hands were on FP's stubbly jaw, that red mouth was on FP's mouth. FP leaned into it, just enjoyed the few minutes he got of tasting the boy.

"Thanks," he said, when Jughead pulled back.

"I lied," Jughead said abruptly.

FP stared at him. 

"About kissing," Jughead said. "It is--I usually do make it a rule. No kissing. But I just--" his hands twisted together. "--I saw you and I just. Wanted. I _wanted_ to kiss you."

He looked young and vulnerable, that curl of hair in his face again. FP brushed it back and then let his fingers trail down to the nape of the boy's neck. Pulled him close for a few seconds. 

"Me too, my boy," he said.

-

Most nights, he got back to the Whyte Wyrm and if there was no trouble, he was more or less glued to the bar. That first beer had just turned into innumerable beers. Because he couldn't help but think of Gladys, how dirty she did him, and that baby girl he never got to know, and somewhere out there his boy. Forsythe. Kid with his name but nothing else, not a trace of his daddy. Not even knowing FP was thinking about him.

When FP thought about his son, it was hard _not_ to drink.

Tonight, though, he nursed only one beer all night. Even Rex noticed. Hard not to notice that good mood he had even after he broke up six or seven stupid scuffles.

He went to bed in a good mood, even. Easy, light-like.

Dreaming of tracing those beauty marks. Kissing that wide, familiar kind of mouth.


End file.
